


Faint Breath of Love

by TempestRising



Category: Kingkiller Chronicles - Patrick Rothfuss
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Bisexual Simmon, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sim's father's a dick, Wil's cool with everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2018-11-30 20:24:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11471022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempestRising/pseuds/TempestRising
Summary: From the day Sim is told Kvothe is killed to the day Kvothe comes back are some of the best times in Sim's life, because Wil is there, and he suddenly sees Wil in a new light.Or: Wil is protective, Sim is sad, and they are both hopeless in love.





	1. Chapter 1

Winter seemed to break just in time for admissions, and Simmon took that as a good omen. He'd been distracted during the time he was supposed to be studying. He and Wil had spent every night this span together and, afterwards, he was rarely in the right space to concentrate on the dozens of books the masters had left aside for E'lir. 

But the weather had broken, and the first day of spring hung over the University like a gift. Sim whistled and began talking to Uresh, who was ahead of him in line. They knew each other only peripherally, but the darker man's hesitant syllables reminded Sim of Wilem two years ago, when they both arrived at the University in the same admissions line, and Sim laughed as Uresh tried to recruit him for higher mathematics. His old tutor back home had often cuffed him around the ear for being hopeless at sums.

Of course good days can't last, Sim thought, as Uresh stiffened and Sim looked behind him to see Ambrose strolling into the courtyard bold as brass.

He noticed a couple students looking at him. Though Kvothe had been gone three span now, chasing the wind to the other side of the world, everyone knew about Kvothe and Ambrose's rivalry, and knew, must know, that Sim had wholeheartedly thrown himself on Kvothe's side.

And Ambrose had spent the last month tormenting Wilem in the Archives. That's really what made Sim shake with the force of his anger.

"I'm glad to have found you, little duke." Ambrose swept off his hat, exageratedly. "I was hoping to catch you before your admissions. I have news that you need to know."

"Spit it out, then." Sim swept his hair out of his face. The next person was called for admissions and Uresh walked away hesitantly. "Good luck," Sim said, quietly. "I know you'll do well."

Uresh's dark face was darker at the sight of Ambrose. "Do not antagonize this one."

But Sim was done with Ambrose. Done with how he strutted around the university and no one dared meddle with him. Done with how he treated women, treated Sim's friends, treated the masters themselves. But mostly Sim remembered how Ambrose had spoken to Wil since the beginning, and the memories made his blood boil.

Ambrose watched Uresh leave. Sim had to give it to him, he knew how to hold a crowd's attention almost as well as Kvothe did. "I am sorry to be the one to tell you this," Ambrose said, voice dripping with false sympathy. "But Kvothe is dead. Gone down with a ship before he could reach whatever backward province he was heading to."

Sim tried to breathe. "You're a rotten liar, Ambrose."

"Am I?" Ambrose raised an eyebrow. "I have never been called a liar before. Certainly not by the son of a paper duke. As much as it pains me to confirm this, it is the truth." His mouth twisted into a sneer. "The Ruh bastard is gone. Your filthy shim watch dog is going. And you," Ambrose raised his eyes to a spot behind Sim. "You are next."

He was right. Simmon went into admissions shaking. He felt tears prickling as the masters formally announced themselves as present. He did cry when Kilvin turned his huge head Sim's way. "You are shaking," Kilvin stated. He sounded like Wil. Worried, and wondering.

"I'm sorry, sir." Sim bowed deeply. He had not forgotten all his manners. "Forgive me, please. I just received some - awful -" He took a deep breath and lowered himself into the Heart of Stone. "I was just informed that Re'lar Kvothe has died in a shipwreck. We were friends. It has -"

He was cut off by Elxa Dal and Kilvin shouting at him at once. But he was more disturbed by Elodin's wide, round eyes transfixed on him. Transfixed on his soul.

After, he went to find Wil. He nearly cried again at the sight of his friend packing his bags. Of course. They'd talked about it all for a span. For longer than a span. Ambrose had been making Wil's life miserable in the Archives, and Wil had a long fuse and an explosive temper. So he was leaving for a term. Back to his father's wool business in Anilin.

Wil looked up when Sim walked in. "Ah," he said, accent thicker than ever. "So you heard, too."

"Just before admissions. I flubbed it, got nine talents even, master's were in an uproar." He swiped at his eyes. "Not that it _matters_. Kvothe, gone! It's -

"If anyone can survive a shipwreck, it is our Kvothe. I do not believe he is dead. He is destined for greater things than the stormy sea." Wil closed his eyes, nodding to himself, eyelashes brushing the edges of his bearded cheeks.

"You are maddeningly calm." Sim wanted to shout, but Wil's calm made him lower his voice in turn. Yet his stomach still rolled with emotions. "And you're leaving me!"

"I am sorry," Wil extended an arm and drew Sim close. "If I could stay, I would. But I never drew an admissions slot." He pressed his lips to Sim's forehead and Sim refused to think of it as anything more than a friendly gesture from a foreign land. "You can come home with me. My mother would love to meet you. You can practice your Siaru?"

Sim wrinkled his nose at the thought. It was appealing, to spend a term with steady Wilem. But, "It will get back to my noble father. I know it will."

Wil stared at him, then put a heavy hand on his shoulder. "I will write. Often. If anything happens, Anilin is only four days away by carriage. Less if I ride."

"Aw," Sim gushed. "My own prince gallant." He wanted to say more. About how this would be his first term in two years without Wilem. That without him to look forward to at the end of classes he, Sim, would be lonely, endlessly lonely. And Wil had the practical answer, and would be days away, a span's worth of letter writing away for a question and a reply.

They gathered up Wil's bags and took them over the bridge to Imre, where Wil bargined happily in Siaru for a ride to Anilin. The whole time Sim stood there, kicking his boots in the hay. He'd have to write his father for some money to cover expenses. He was not looking forward to those letters nearly as much as the ones with Wil. And Kvothe was dead. That thought came into his head every minute or so. The sky is blue, Kvothe is dead. Wil was leaving, and Kvothe is dead. He imagined Kvothe's body, his fire red hair dark with water as he sunk into the sea. Sim wondered if the Ruh were afraid of water. He hoped not.

Wil was back from haggling. "I leave in an hour. I wanted to say farewell to Stanchion and Deoch. Tell them the news. Want to join me for a drink?"

"Of course."

They told the owners about Kvothe's death, and spent a heady quarter hour agreeing that he couldn't be dead, that flame that bright could not be snuffed out so quickly. Wil ordered wine and Deoch brought out a bottle for all of them. "Luck on the road," the barman said, lifting his glass, and they all toasted for luck.

Wil left him in the Eolian. He gave Sim a long, rough hug, and another kiss on his brow, and he was gone in a swirl of cloak, Sim left to look after him.

"Ah, lad," Stanchion said. "I've seen that look before."

Sim scrubbed his face so no one else could see him staring so wistfully after his last friend in the world.

.***.

_Sim,_

_I made it back home. I could not write on the road. It was wet, and we lost a horse in a river, and I had no paper. But I am home. Thank the tiny gods. I forgot to ask you to keep an eye on Puppet. He is dear to me (not as you are) and I fear he does not have enough company. Even sitting in silence is enough._

__

_I am to balance the books for the next three months. My father has a dozen wool shops in Anilin alone, and forty-some across Caeld. I am working with my cousin who is almost as hopeless with sums as you are. That is all I will speak of my tasks here. I know that ordering the materials and coordinating shops must sound boring to an outsider. This is my day. It is challenging. And enjoyable._

_I worry that when I finish schooling this will be my life. It seems smaller now._

_Please enjoy yourself. Visit with Fela. Do not brood about Kvothe. I have spoken to my father to keep an eye out. If any one with hair as red as his is spotted, you will be the first to know._

_Write soon_

_W_

.

_Dear Wil,_

__

__

_That is the most I have heard from you at once, ever. You should go to the other side of the world more often. The Chancellor cornered me outside the Archives yesterday and over lunch suggested I pick a path of study. I said I was already studying alchemy, and he looked displeased. Maybe he wants me back in linguistics? I can always improve my Siaru. We had half the conversation in Eld Vintic and the other half in Siaru and I think I said_ kist _instead of_ kote. _He smiled, but I'm sure I offended him._

_~~I miss you dearly~~ I feel I am counting the days until the end of term. ~~I don't want to find Fela, I want you~~ Forgive my scribbling, I'm writing this in my Advanced Sympathy class and I'm afraid Elxa Dal will look over my shoulder and see my notes._

_I saw Threpe at the Eolian and he said he'd written to his friend to see if Kvothe is there. Fingers crossed._

_I really must go back to sympathy now. Write when you can. Even if it's about book keeping._

_Keep yourself well - Simmon_

.

_Sim_

_Please visit. My cousin is ruining my father's business. I will strangle him._

_I am caring for my mother's garden. The calanthis are thick and fly like gems. Kist, if my father saw what I wrote, he would tease me to go to poetry. Not that he can read your terrible donkey language. But they are pretty. I will steal a plant for you and maybe the calanthis will follow me back to the University._

_It feels strange to not pursue my own studies, but less strange then it did. Strange that next span will be halfway through the term. My father keeps dripping hints for me to stay next term also._

_How is our favorite friend? And Puppet? How are you, Sim. Your letter says little._

_I will be back in two months. I must go. These letters feel strange under my hand. I wish the University used Siaru. I wish I had a ring of amber. I wish you were here._

_Tua Wil_

.

_Dear Wil_

_I had to ask Puppet what a calanthis is. We call them sipquicks or flits. Puppet is as well as ever. I, as always, talk more than he. I told him about my nightly walking. I feel restless, no matter how early I wake, and I wander the school or over the river into Imre. He told me to go into a certain courtyard at night and I met the most remarkable girl. Well, met is the wrong word. I saw her from afar. She was staring at the moon. And she's not a girl. She's older than me, perhaps. Well-dressed and ghostly. I think she may be a fae. Or I was very tired._

_Our friend always made less remarks to me. But he does keep on about Kvothe's death. Always so falsely sad in my presence. It makes me want to cry all over again. But he really isn't so bad._

_The worst of it is my father. He is upset about my tuition and so threatened to come down to the University. If he did I would die. He would stick out like a bruised toe here, and wreak havoc on the life I have so carefully built. You know that I have gotten by this far by being the least obtrusive of his children. But I fear he will decide my life is not worthwhile, and make me go back to Dalinor, and there I will stay._

_Although I know that my input should not influence the course of your life...please, Wil, come back to the University next term. I fear I am falling apart._

_Write soon - Simmon_

_PstScrip: I have just reread this letter and am embarrassed by much of what I say, but I cannot bring myself to rewrite it. Please know that I am fine. Always._

.

_Dearest Simmon,_

_Let me know what I can do to help. I gather from your letter that you fear you are needing me more than I am needing you. And yet you cannot be more wrong. I find myself missing you most nights, when the streets of Anilin are dark save for the stars shining like distant suns. I mentioned this to my cousin the other day and he rolled his eyes and reminded me that stars are the gods. I know this. And yet. I miss you. Let me help._

_Tua Wil_

.

_Dear Wil - My father wants to meet me to discuss my future at the University. I would not ask you to come, but we are meeting in Farstar, a dozen miles from Anilin, on the Commonwealth side. I will be staying at the Rose and Crown on Mourning. I would not ask you, but I fear I will not see you again. Please come. Simmon._

.

_Of course. I am on my way._

.

Sim sipped a small beer at the Rose and Crown. He had been talking to the serving boy about the goings-on in Farstar, but the boy had left a half-hour ago and he was stuck sitting idly, watching the crowd and pretending he wasn't. The journey had taken almost two and a half days - he had told the necessary masters that he would be gone from his classes for at least two days. He didn't mention the very real possibility that he may never be coming back. He took Mola and Fela out for a night of drinking at the Eolian, and tried not to make his goodbyes too teary. He had murmured a goodbye to Puppet and waved at the fae girl in the court yard, and the girl waved back, and Sim knew that this was a real goodbye.

There was a small production of _Three Pennies For Wishing_ in the square, and Sim found himself watching the Deadnettle poison scene with sharp interest. The players were very good, and Sim wondered, idly, if they were Edema Ruh. He wondered if they'd offer him wine.

"You look terrible."

Sim let out a sound like a roar or a cry and threw himself at Wilem. His friend's face looked gentler than usual, and they held each other tight. Then Wil coughed, and Sim flew backwards. Examined Wil closer. "Why in Tehlu's name would you travel while sick?"

Wil's smile was tight. "Nice to see you too, mother."

They sat so they could both watch the players, and told each other things. Wil talked about the books and his bumbling cousin, and about how he'd fallen ill at the beginning of the span, don't look at me like that, Sim, it's a simple cold. Sim didn't believe him. Wil had never admitted to illness before, and he figured that if his friend was admitting it, he must be very ill indeed. So Sim stayed quiet, and they watched the end of the play, and when the troupe came around with a hat Sim added a hard penny and Wil looked at it ruefully. "I have only Caeldish money," he explained, taking out his purse to show the pretty girl with the hat.

"All kinds welcome, dear. We'll be traveling there soon enough." She smiled at them beatifically, and Sim flushed to his hairline. Wil coughed again, and the girl left. Sim looked at Wil, expecting him to be watching the girl go, but Wil was looking at him instead.

"What of you?" Wil asked.

Sim knew that he had been saying too much in his letters. "I'm fine," he protested. "Really. I - well. Kvothe." He bit his lip. He'd been thinking of Kvothe a lot. He had other friends, of course, Manet and Sovoy and the girls, but Wil and Kvothe were his best friends. The ones he hoped he would never lose touch with. And Kvothe was dead. "I've been thinking that I didn't really know him well. And now I'll never have the chance to ask."

"Aye," Wil said, throatily. "I've thought that too."

They sat with their secret thoughts for a while. Sim desperately wanted to say more, but Wil kept coughing into his closed fist. "Do you want to lay down? I have a bed on the second floor."

"I am fine. Stop worrying."

Sim blushed again. "It's just. I was taught that when someone is sick, you're - you know. Supposed to be quiet around them. Leave them alone."

Wil gave him that look. The one Sim had been given often during his first term at the University, when he'd reveal something about his home life to Wilem and the other boy would explain, as gently as he could in broken Aturan, that Sim had had a loveless, harsh childhood. That other children weren't ridiculed when they wanted to go to school, or humiliated for not wanting to hunt, or beaten for flubbing the rules of the court. And, apparently, when people are sick, Sim gathered, they weren't supposed to be locked in their room and not touched until the sickness passed.

Wil touched his hand across the table, and Sim's heart soar. He felt an instant bolt of shame at the fact, but there wasn't much he could do but accept the touch, and smile, and pretend his heart didn't flutter at the kindness in Wil's eyes. "Kvothe is not dead," Wil said, and they talked about that, for a while. Until they had to meet with Sim's father.

The Duke of Dalinor was in a private back room of the biggest, snootiest inn in town. He barely looked up when Sim entered, but stared without embarrassment at Wil. Sim knew he was taking in Wil's dark, ruddy Caeldish skin, his beard. Taking in the way Sim held Wil by the elbow, as if Wil was his only anchor in the world. "Father, this is Wilem, son of Wilem, a merchant in Anilin. Wil, this is Gimmon, my father, the Duke of Dalinor, Lord Regent of the Small Kingdoms."

Wil bowed at the waist, as Sim had reminded him to do, and Gim acknowledged him with a wave of a fork. Sim sat, and Wil sat at his right hand. He hesitated, then said. "It is good to see you, father."

"Hardly," Gim spoke through a mouthful of roast duck. He had already ordered for Sim, plain bread and hard eggs, unidentifiable meat, potatoes, carrots. It was simpler than the fare at the University, but Sim's stomach was roiling too much to think about eating, anyway. "Do you know how much time I had to take out of my schedule to see you? Your brother is presiding in the absence. Idiot boy." Gim snorted, and Sim glanced at Wil.

"What did you want to see me about, father?" Sim didn't dare touch the food. As a child he was teased by his brothers and father for being piggish and plain, and eating in front of Father was still a chore.

"We need to discuss your studies." Spittle and bits of duck flew through Gim's mouth.

"We've never spoken of it before."

"I thought you were a good student. No scholar, of course, but dedicated in a dumb way. Like my horse." Wil bristled, and Sim put a hand on his arm in warning. "You never caused me trouble before. Ten talents a term I'd give you. A large allowance. Right? A large..."

Sim was already nodding. "Very large, sir, but you see - I told you. My friend -"

Gim looked at him with open distaste, and Sim ducked his head. "This is why I didn't buy you a commission. One friend dies and you're a puddle of tears. I've got two damn damsel daughters." He spoke with such derision that Sim felt his face burn. "You obviously can't be trusted with the responsibility of a University. So I will be pulling you after this term."

It's what Sim had been expecting, but it was still a blow. He could work with this, he thought. He could - he could - "I have enough to get by." Sim said, with more reason than he'd thought he could muster. "I'll get a job. I'll make up the difference."

"No son of mine is going to work at a dirty tavern." Gim wasn't quite roaring, but there was a dangerous, dark edge to his voice. "You will come home with me. I'll train you in diplomacy myself."

"I don't want to be a diplomat!" Sim's head was spinning but he spoke as forcefully as he could. "I want to be an alchemist." Sim stood up from the table and he felt Wil rise with him, and he was embarrassed, so embarrassed to be seen arguing with his father like a toddler. The surge of shame cut him like a knife. "I'm sorry, sir. But if you want me back in Dalinor you will have to drag me."

Gim stood, too, and he towered over Sim, a huge man with a bigger temper. He crowded Sim against the wall. "You have always been a black spot on my name. Wearing your books like a shield. Like you're better than me." He sneered, and raised his hand, and Sim closed his eyes.

The blow never landed. Sim cracked his eyes open and saw that Wil had planted himself in front of him. "Goodbye, sir." Wil gritted out, and Sim could hear in his voice how angry he was. "If you want to talk again, come find Sim at University. He is well loved there. The masters would love to hear why a bull like you is dragging a clever student from his studies."

Sim expected the Duke to scream, to rip Wil away, to drag him home anyway. But Gim just glared, his face like stone, as Wil took Sim's hand and led the way out of the room, out of the inn, into the cool embrace of night.


	2. Not Born to Drown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Wil and Sim get together rather quickly and honestly it's mostly fluff and like PG rated sex. I do write this while keeping in mind that my baby sister will read it and even though she's almost twenty-one I have to preserve her innocence. 
> 
> Also Kvothe returns.

Ah, here's the thing: whatever crisis Sim was wrestling with did not affect Wilem. Wilem was not the youngest son of an Aturian Duke. Wilem was Caeldish, and the Caeld were civilized and did not care about such small things as who anyone was sleeping with.

Wilem had never thought of Simmon in that way. Or at least, he never thought he did. He just gave into the urges to protect the sandy-haired boy, when he needed it, and to be around when he didn't. Sim had had a hard, loveless childhood, and Wil was determined to give him the moon.

So that night, when he dragged, carried, and supported Sim up the stairs to his room, the younger man determinedly not crying, which was almost sweet. Sim cried at everything, mostly good tears, cathartic tears. But he never cried about himself. Not once. "Simmon," Wil began when they'd finally gotten to the room.

"My oldest brother," Sim said, as if he'd been thinking on it. "Timmon. He will inherit. And Tim's always been good to me. He isn't a brute like our father. Not by half. And Tim would have gone to the University, too, if he wasn't the eldest." Sim ran a hand through his hair. "Would you mind waiting, Wil? While I write a letter?"

Wil didn't mind. He had brought with him the books from the business his cousin was managing, and there was something about balancing the figures that settled him, like drowning deep in the heart of stone. The world was manageable in numbers, and his heart didn't beat quite so hard when he looked up and saw Sim poke the end of his tongue out between his teeth, concentrating as he wrote.

They had not spoken about what they'd said in the letters, and Wil feared that Sim had not meant his words the way Wil meant them, and he kept coming up from the peace of the numbers to reread all of Sim's letters that he'd committed to memory.

He scratched out balances and Sim scratched out his signature, dusted with sand, poured the wax, sealed it. "Tim will help," Sim said, though he may have been talking to himself. "I know it."

"Could you still continue your education if your father disowns you?"

Sim's laugh had no substance and Wil desperately wished he wouldn't laugh when he didn't mean it. "He won't actually disown me. It wouldn't look good for the Duke to get into a feud with his smallest son. He will just forbid me from coming home, which is a blessing, and he will cut off my tuition in hopes of leaving me penniless. And I suppose I would be, but if Tim doesn't help then Jessen will, and Jess has always been my fastest friend in the family." He set the letter down. "But she is younger than me, and already married off, and though she seems to like her husband so far she does not yet control his purse. She would be support but nothing more."

It was strange for Wil to hear Sim speak so seriously, though he also gave the boy credit for his level-headedness. Sim had demanded a place at the University, and so far he'd been granted it. "From here the message will get to Dalinor in two days," Sim continued. "And to the University in four or five. A span until we really communicate, but I have enough to tide me over. Not enough for another term's tuition, but I have made my case. If Tim supports me through the Arcanum I will return to his side as a full Arcanist, for as many years as he wishes me, and I will strengthen our alliances while at the University. He cannot diversify his friendships alone in Atur, and with Kevvin dead and Dennen a part of the church..."

"Your brother died?" 

"Just a few span ago," Sim said. "I got word a few span ago. It may have been longer. I am usually the last to hear such things." Sim pressed a sleeve to his eyes. Ah. That is the Sim Wil knew so well. "Kev was a younger, brighter father. All he ever wanted was the army. He could have been a general."

The silence blanketed them, but silence between them had never been awkward. 

"Sim..."

"I'm sorry for the way my father spoke," Sim said. "Truly. Thank you for...for saying what you did. I think it is what gave me the courage..." He looked at the letter.   
And Wil thought he understood. Wil had been brought up in a wealthy family, but he had always been surrounded by those who had cared about him. More cousins and aunts then he could count. A father who was proud of him. A mother who began the story telling early in the evening. Wil was an only child but he counted his many cousins as his siblings, and in his younger years he had been the second at countless duels, and laughed at countless inside jokes. And his father was proud, and his mother was kind.

"My mother was, too." Sim said. He took a step forward and took Wil's hand. "Wilem."

Wil's mouth was suddenly too dry for words. 

But Sim was the poet, and words came to him easily, dogs responding to his call. "I don't remember anyone caring for me as you do. Your letters...I love my life at the University, but it is dimmer without Kvothe. Without you." Their fingers tied together. "I don't remember ever caring for anyone."

"The girls..." Wil began.

"Oh," said Sim carelessly, a little laugh bubbling up. "What girls?" 

He was kissing Wil then, with lips soft as apple butter, with the force of a gale, the promise of a sunrise. And then he stopped, backing away. "Forgive me," he said. "I assumed -"

Before he could doubt himself any more, before he could doubt Wil - Wil stepped forward and put his hands on either side of Sim's face and he kissed him and the shutters on the window clattered in the wind and all memory of the day and the days before this moment were lost in the force of their embrace.

.***.

Wil got back to the University earlier than he expected. It was Orden and he had a feeling that Sim had just made Re'lar (a hope more than a feeling, just the kind of thing his confidence needed) and so he peaked into the Eolian.

"Wilem!" Deoch said, his tone colored by surprise and his cheeks by drink. "Are you back to stop your friend from moping? And drinking those womanly drinks?"

"You are right," Wil deadpanned. "Mostly that. Not at all about studying. It is just to stop Simmon from doing something foolish."

Deoch howled with laughter and tried to give him scutten, but Wil declined and there was a singer taking the stage and he mentioned something about Simmon and as Wil went back into the darkening streets he swore that he saw Deoch wink and then, as the door closed, lean over to Stanchion and him him the very briefest of kisses, so quick it could be a caress.

He walked across the Stone Bridge and picked up things on his way. Apples, grey mead, first moonlight, bread and butter, meat and knife. The corners of the University were empty with students who were either studying for admissions or celebrating their tuitions. There were days left to go. Wil was in no hurry, except to see Sim.

He would have to get rooms at an inn, Wil decided. Unless Sim could be decidedly quieter than previous opportunities suggested, they would be found out in the Mews sooner rather than later, and it would be nothing but unwanted trouble. Though men loving men was no longer against the King's Law in the Commenwealth it had only just made legal within Wil's lifetime.

One day he promised to take Sim to Caeld and stay there in a land that cared not who they were. One day he would have a ring of amber and know the seven words that made men want to do business with you. One day there would be room at an inn where a kind man showed them a distant room and they could be with each other the way Wil dreamed.

He sped up his walk. He kept imagining Sim's face when Wil surprised him. Wilem was not great with words the way Sim was, making up poetry just for letters, weaving the air tight as a fisherman's net, made for two. So Wil relied on actions, and actions relied on surprise, and if he kept imagining Sim's face he would forget the real thing. The knife nearly slipped as he knocked on Sim's door. "Come in, Fenton, are you quite ready yet?"

Wil laughed and before he could say anything there were footsteps on the other side of the door. "Merciful Tehlu!" Sim flung himself at him and Wil had to do uncomfortable juggling to make sure his lover did not impale himself in the process. "I didn't expect you until Felling! Wil! Did you make good time on the road." He began to look Wilem over, a smile playing about his soft mouth. "You look...healthy."

"Perhaps," said Wil, because Sim looked quite content to stand out here all night, "we should take this to your rooms?"

Simmon backed up and Wil closed the door, laying the food on Sim's side table while the sandy-haired boy took the books off of it. "So," Sim said. "Have you gone through admissions yet?"

"No. Have you?"

Sim, who could never keep a secret, could never lie, burst into laughter. "I will not be spending another term as E'lir, young Wil." Then he made a noise like a squeal but slightly manlier, nearly jumping with the force of his happiness. "Can you believe it? And after everything, too! And I've made enough to cover this term's tuition! And Timmon is going to help me after all! And -"

He stopped only when Wil kissed him. And kissed him. A particular favorite place for his lips was the side of Sim's cheek where it met the ear, and Wil's beard tickled. "Shh," Wil coaxed, and he was laughing too. "What if one of those superstitious fellows heard us?" He pressed Sim and Sim followed and they collapsed onto the suddenly too-small bed, Sim underneath.

"Take off your boots you brute."

Wil put his forehead to Sim's forehead and breathed deep. Sim smelled of parchment and clean water. "You think of boots at a time like this?"

There was a rap at the door and Sim startled like a frightened cat. "Fenton," Sim moaned. "I told him to come celebrate being promoted."

"Well get rid of him." Wil began to unlace his boots, and had to sit carefully to be comfortable.

"Obviously." Sim got to the door and held it an angle to keep Wil from view and he and Fenton had a mild exchange, Sim proclaiming a headache on his part, but reminding Fenton that both Fela and Mola were waiting by the entrance to the women's wing of the Mews, and somebody had to go keep them company in Sim's absence, and Fenton took his leave hastily.

Wil snorted into his shirt sleeve, removing cape coat and boots until he was barefooted as Sim. "Food?" Wil asked. "Since we've been interrupted?"

Sim adjusted himself and seemed to consider: "Oh, why not. You get to hear all about my admissions, then."

Wil cut up the meat and divided the bread and the apple and gave it all to Sim piece by piece and he nodded along to Sim's story and after a short pause following the ending Wil leaned over the table and kissed him.

"You have been very insistent today, sir," Sim said. He was playacting but every so often, when he tilted his chin like that and put on that voice and raised his shoulders he suddenly looked like the prettiest boy in the world, and Wil's heart would grow in pleasure of knowing that Sim had somehow decided to be with him. "A lady would think it was improper."

"You are no lady," Wil teased.

"I want to hear about you, Wil, I always seem to be monopolizing our conversations."

"Later," Wil said. "Later."

And the food was gone and they were in bed again and there was nothing in the world like this feeling, holding Sim and feeling like he was holding the most precious thing in the world, and as Wil rolled on top once more he realized with a jolt that he was in love, and maybe he'd been in love all along.

"I love you," he said.

Sim, below, red-faced and mussed, looked at him with glazed eyes. "Yeah," he panted. "I love you, too. And I love you and I love you and I love you."

Wil cupped Sim's chin and stroked a finger over his lips and then he was intent on pulling off Sim's clothes, and Sim pulled off Wil's clothes, and they kissed each other's necks and chests and lower, lower still, and Sim's voice like just a breath when he reminded Wil of the oil just there and then Wil was pressing in and they were chest to chest and the motion was like the turning of the earth or the toss of the sea, something inevitable, and right, and Sim sighed and moaned.

"Shh," Wil begged, kissing the words into the crook of Sim's shoulder. "Shh." But the noises were from him to.

He put a hand over Sim's mouth, busy writing words into his skin.

The stars sang, and they began again.

Later they took a break and wrapped admittedly quite dirty sheets around their bodies and they ate the last apple and mused about going to Anker's and getting a meat pie but they knew they would just do this again, while they had time, before term began and they would see each other fleetingly. Wil was already plotting places in the Stacks where they could get conveniently lost in a dark corner.

And there was another knock at the door. It was early morning and Wil smelled rain from the open window. Probably Fenton, high on his conquest. Sim looked a sight; red-eyed, his hand knotting with Wil's until the last possible moment. He opened the door and Wil busied himself being inconspicuous. Then: "Blackened body of God."

Wil looked up. It was the strongest language he'd ever heard Sim use. Suddenly he brought all his alar to bear, as if they were under attack. Then: "Kvothe. You're alive."

Wil got to his feet in time to get his arms out so Sim could have a bit of a cry. He opened the door wider, and Kvothe stepped in. It was most certainly him, but three-quarters of a year was a lot of a sixteen-year-old, Wil guessed, because he looked different around the edges and stood upright, and the power he'd had about him before shrouded him like a living cloak, and his eyes were the green of grass after rain when they looked at Wil with naked astonishment.

That was good, then. This fae-creature Kvothe still had the power to be surprised, and Wil realized what a sight he himself must be. They'd gotten half-dressed but he was still bare-chested. He put a protective arm around Sim. "Not now," he mouthed, and Kvothe nodded just in time for Sim to start shouting.

"We've been asking after you for months. Months! Threpe said that you'd gotten to the Maer of Alveron safe, because we had to ask him, because you didn't write, and then he said that the Maer sent you on a hunt, and then nothing! Vanished, like a ghost in the wilderness."

"You're wearing two cloaks," Wil added.

Kvothe looked at him curiously. "How did you know that?"

Wil couldn't explain, just like he couldn't explain why Kvothe looked much, much older than three-quarters of a year would warrant. He had a short bronze beard now and when he perched on the edge of the table Wil noticed he'd gotten taller, too. And he had seen the fae. Wil had an uncle who had gone to the fae, once, and he'd returned out of the blue, but as if he wasn't all there, or was there too much, as if he took up too much space in the world.

"At least we had Threpe," Sim was still shouting. "Because the ship was reported as all hands lost. You can guess three times as to who I heard the news from." He didn't wait for a guess. "Ambrose! And I spent another term as an E'lir, and my father disowned me, and you were gone and Wil was gone and -"

"Another term?" Kvothe asked. He was good, Wil remembered, at diplomatic questions, when the tact came to him. "You made Re'lar?"

That coaxed a grin from Sim. "Just yesterday."

Kvothe's face was like stone, suddenly. "And I see you didn't waste time celebrating." He nodded at Wil.

All the color drained from Sim's face. "Wil," Sim began. "He's been..."

Wil threw an arm around Sim's waist, dragging the smaller man into his lap. "We are lovers," Wil said, plainly. "Does that bother you?"

Kvothe began to laugh, and his laugh hadn't changed, the chortle of lute strings, the leaping of flames. "Oh, Simmon, I am sorry to tease. Of course I don't mind." He sat gingerly on the bed when he realized Sim had started to cry. "Oh, Sim. I'm sorry. You looked so happy and I've ruined it." He carefully extracted Sim from Wil's grip and drew him into a hug, and he was most definitely taller because Sim looked small, and there was a hard knot under Wil's ribs. So this was jealousy. "Of course I don't care. I'm so happy for you. At least you've both found someone you deserve."

He held Sim at arm's length. "And Wil knows that if he hurts you I know how to hold six bindings and I know where to stab a man so he dies slowly."

The words resonated in the room and Wil found himself rubbing at his ears. He'd heard that sound before. Or the not-sound. The vacuum. It was how Elodin spoke. "You take Sim's side over mine?" Wil asked, still rubbing.

"Of course," Kvothe said.

"Good." Wil got to his feet and embraced both boys, holding them tight. If he held on long enough they would never have to go, and the blurry parts of Kvothe would never hurt him, and Sim would never cry, and Wil could stop worrying, finally, and sleep easy. But he pulled away and put on a shirt. "How long would your stories take?"

Kvothe took the question seriously. "A good, long day. Or three unhurried nights over drinks. I have a heavy purse once more."

Sim snorted. "That never lasts long." He was pulling his trousers on and doing a poor job at it, looking up at Kvothe every few moments as if he was an apparition from a Modegan tragedy.

"Three nights it is," Wil spoke for both of them.

Kvothe waved. "But not now. It has been a long journey." He looked around the room blearily and again Wil was heartened. So Kvothe had not lost much of himself with the fae. No, not yet. "Eolian at seventh bell? I have admissions tomorrow, and people to meet again."

"Seventh bell," Sim echoed.

Kvothe's hand lingered on the doorpost, and he turned, and his eyes were the dappled green of early summer blossoms. "I'm happy you found happiness," he said. "And I will protect you from all things that you need protecting from. I swear it three times."

Sim looked up from where he'd started stripping his trousers off again. "My Ciridae." His foot came unstuck from the pant leg suddenly and he fell backwards into the bed.

Kvothe opened his mouth and his eyes flashed emerald. He said, "tomorrow." And he looked at Wilem as he closed the door, and he thought he saw, before it was all the way closed, how Wil took Sim in his arms and kissed his temple and nose and lips and it was so gentle and then Kvothe was on the other side of the door, in the dark, still hall of the Mews, and he walked slowly out into the night and wrapped his two cloaks around his shoulders. The streets of the University had begun to fill with rain.

**Author's Note:**

> I adore every part of Sim. So does my sister. This is for her.


End file.
